


98

by evengrable



Series: 19 [2]
Category: Columbine - Fandom
Genre: 1990s, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, References to Real People, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evengrable/pseuds/evengrable
Summary: “I’m not going to be some fag who gets his head bashed in,” Eric rants. “I’m a fucking god.”
Relationships: Eric Harris/Dylan Klebold
Series: 19 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145078
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

Eric spends the first week of 1998 skiing with his dad and brother in Eldora.

He hates snow sports. The mountain is so busy, Eric spends most of his time on the slopes fighting through an ocean of bunnies and zombies from Vail. His ski boots are heavy. He hates not being able to work on his projects and bombs. He misses Dylan. But he toes the line for his dad anyway.

Every second of not being able to talk to Dylan sucks. Neither of them have a cell phone, and there’s no public computer access on the whole mountain. On the third day, Eric even considers breaking into the visitor office just to snake a couple minutes online and send Dylan an email.

The following night, he and Kevin sneak out of the hotel room at 2AM with a bottle of Schnapps. Kevin doesn’t know it, but Eric stole it from the back of a catering truck that was conveniently unloading when they were all coming back from the mountain. 

Even though Kevin is kind of lame, they find a rotten tree and spend some time kicking it and throwing rocks. Eric wishes he had a pellet gun or pipe bomb.

He thinks about Dylan constantly. 

*

The drive home is torture. 

His dad goes the speed limit the entire way, they have to stop for gas and to eat two separate times, and then they take the scenic route through Idaho Springs. By the time the car rolls to a slow stop in the driveway, it’s midnight.

Eric throws his door open and turns around to dig his stuff out of the back seat.

“Where’s the fire?” his dad asks, amused.

The reason why Eric is in such a rush isn’t as easy to lie about as pipe bombs and speeding tickets are.

“No rush.” He tries to play it off as he picks his duffle bag up by its twisted handle, but this is the longest he and Dylan have ever been apart, and he’s starting to crack. “I just have a couple things I need to get ready for school tomorrow.”

His dad waves him off. 

Inside the house, Eric says goodnight to his sleepy mother, and clatters down the basement stairs. No one has been down here since Eric left on Sunday. The lights are still off, and the piece of tape Eric stuck to the edge of his bedroom door hasn’t been moved.

He doesn’t even stop to take his bulky ski jacket off before he leans over his desk, and boots his computer up.

He grins when he sees Dylan is online.

REB DoMiNe: that was

REB DoMiNe: NNNNNOOOOTT KIDDIIIIIING

REB DoMiNe: the longest week of my LIFE!!!!!!!

RC_VoDKa: =]

RC_VoDKa: i was waiting for you all night

RC_VoDKa: just sitting and staring at your sn lol

REB DoMiNe: rrrrrrrrrrr

REB DoMiNe: we left friggin eldora at 8

RC_VoDKa: wow what too you so long

REB DoMiNe: my dad

REB DoMiNe: he had to stop and look at everything

RC_VoDKa: gay

REB DoMiNe: mhm.

REB DoMiNe: neway

REB DoMiNe: what did you do while i was gone

RC_VoDKa: hmmmm

RC_VoDKa: i played around with that charcoal powder we got

RC_VoDKa: we need to get some steal ball barings from somewhere

REB DoMiNe: ya we can figure that out

RC_VoDKa: played tomb

REB DoMiNe: mhmm.

RC_VoDKa: went bowling

REB DoMiNe: mhm

RC_VoDKa: jerked off a lot lol

REB DoMiNe: heheh

REB DoMiNe: i had a shower every morning and every night =P

RC_VoDKa: oh yeah?

REB DoMiNe: mhmmmm.

REB DoMiNe: gawd

RC_VoDKa: sneak out

REB DoMiNe: my dad is still awake

REB DoMiNe: rrrrrrrrrrr

REB DoMiNe: fuk

REB DoMiNe: give me 20

RC_VoDKa: meet me on buckhorn

Eric closes the chat window.

His parents are definitely still awake, but Eric can smoke them out. His mom was only up waiting for them to get home, and his dad has work in the morning. He just has to be patient. Eric stands there and waffles on what to do for a split second.

Then he hears AIM ding again. He looks at his computer monitor to find a new chat window, and one last message from Dylan.

RC_VoDKa: not seeing you was the cruelest punishment

RC_VoDKa: it made my head twist

Eric closes the window again, mind made up, and turns his computer monitor off.

*

It’s not hard to make it past his parents.

Like a god, Eric always gets what he wants.

He changes back into his regular clothes and sneaks out the kitchen door while his parents are upstairs getting ready for bed. All the lights are off, which means they won’t be coming back down to the main level until the morning. The most nerve wracking part is starting his car, which is parked on the street.

But it’s fine.

He gets away with it.

And he’s enroute to Dylan’s house a few minutes later.

*

Eric turns his music down, and flips his headlights off as he turns onto Buckhorn.

Even though it’s past midnight there are still a few houses lit up with porch lights. It’s enough to spot Dylan, who is standing right where Buckhorn turns into Cougar. Seeing him cuts Eric’s adrenaline into waves, splits his buzzing head into thoughts, and for the first time in a week, he feels normal again.

He leans over to roll down his window as Dylan walks along the shoulder to get to his car.

“Going somewhere?” Eric asks, raising his eyebrows.

Dylan smirks at him through the window and then drops down to peer through it. His cheeks are burnt pink from the cold air.

“I dunno.” They stare at each other and Eric feels his heart ratchet up into his throat. “My mom told me I can’t play with you anymore.”

Eric grins. He tilts his head back against the seat and says, “Get in.”

Dylan grins back, a little evil, and opens the car door. He only gets half of himself inside, one foot still out on the gravelly road, before he reaches over the center console for Eric with both hands. Eric sees it coming, but still lets out a noise of surprise when Dylan yanks him close by the coat and kisses him hard.

Groaning, Eric closes his eyes and kisses back.

They sit there on the shoulder, with the car still running, for way too long. Anyone could see them. Eric turned his headlights off, but the interior dome light is still on. Eric knows they should get out of here before they get caught, but for a split second, he doesn’t give a fuck. He puts a hand in Dylan’s hair and kisses him again.

“DK,” he finally manages, opening his mouth to talk and catching Dylan’s tongue in the process. “Dylan.”

Dylan stops kissing him, but doesn’t loosen the grip he has on Eric’s coat.

“This week sucked,” he says quietly. The light above them flickers as Dylan’s leg shifts, and the passenger door closes enough to turn the sensor off and then on again. “There’s no reason to be alive when you aren’t here.”

That makes Eric’s self control slip. He tugs Dylan into another kiss, and they sit there, making out in the front seat of Eric’s car, until another set of headlights peeks over the horizon up ahead and they jolt apart.

“Fuck,” Eric swears, wiping his face off.

Dylan gets his leg inside and slams the door closed. It’s freezing even though the heat is still running.

They both sit still, slid down a little in their seats, as the other car drives by.

“Not a cop.” Dylan twists around to watch it go, and then looks at Eric. “Let’s get out of here.”

*

Deer Creek Canyon Park is five minutes away from the Klebolds.

It’s too cold to sit outside, so Eric parks near a stretch of low-hanging trees, lets the heat run for a minute extra, and cuts the engine. They should be pretty hard to spot all the way over here.

He grins at Dylan and climbs over the gear shift.

“Ow,” Dylan laughs. They both try to accommodate for the tight fit, but Eric still bumps his head off the ceiling and swears. He grins down at the crazy look on Dylan’s face as they try to get comfortable. Finally Dylan slides down in the seat, and Eric hunches forward. They kiss, and Dylan says into his mouth, “We could have sex here.”

Eric smirks into another wet kiss and counters, “You could suck my dick.”

“Yeah,” Dylan easily agrees. He grabs Eric’s ass with both hands, and they stare at each other as Dylan drops his head back against the seat, and Eric grinds into his lap. “I could do that.” His eyes flutter closed. “Fuck, that feels good.”

It’s a power trip to make Dylan like him like that. But not in the way explosives are. Eric has no practical knowledge about sex.

But he did visit a dumpy little hole in the wall adult bookstore over Christmas break.

He told his parents he was going out bowling and, instead, drove to the seediest part of town, and then parked six blocks away. 

The mission was both torturous and deeply personal. Eric was able to get in and out in under five minutes, with the stolen copy of Bound & Gagged tucked into the front of his jacket. The title wasn’t his first choice, but it was the only one he saw with a guy on the cover.

For the first week Eric had it, he couldn’t even crack the plastic wrap. He hid it under the loose floorboard in the bottom of his closet and didn’t mention it to anyone.

He needed to know - he couldn’t stop thinking about it - but he also wasn’t willing to run the risk of entering it into his AOL searches. Under that floorboard, it felt like he was hiding the telltale heart. Except every time Eric thought about opening it to see what was inside, he couldn’t go through with it. 

When he finally caved and knifed that plastic wrap open he felt his entire body throb.

He groans and squeezes the back of Dylan’s neck, head tilting to the side as Dylan sucks the side of his jaw and his ear. The car windows are steaming up; cold out there, but hot on the inside.

“Ow,” Eric grimaces, bringing his shoulder up to knock Dylan’s bitey mouth away. Dylan doesn’t relent, just hunches over more, digs his nose into the crook of Eric’s neck, and bites again as he sucks Eric’s throat. Eric laughs this time but hits the back of Dylan’s head and says, “Fuck, ow!”

Dylan relents for real this time but starts trying to feel him up more with his hands. “Sorry,” he says, digging his face into Eric’s shirt.

It’s a rush. It’s all a rush with Dylan. Just endorphins and adrenaline.

“No you’re not,” Eric pants, pressing back to ride Dylan’s dick through his BDUs.

He’s going to come. The inside of his boxers are already wet.

“I’m not,” Dylan laughs, out of breath. It feels so good. Eric’s head is empty in a way the medication never manages. The grinding gets shorter and harder, and then Dylan pants, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Dylan comes in his pants, and grabs Eric hard around the waist as he thrusts up. Eric gets knocked up into the ceiling, and has to lift one arm to brace himself as he sticks his other hand into his pants and jerks off. 

He may not be a social butterfly, but he knows how to do this. How to put that look on Dylan’s face he’s never seen anywhere else.

When he comes, he lets go of the ceiling and flops over Dylan. They’re both breathing hard.

Eric rests his face against the shoulder of Dylan’s t-shirt, the feel and smell soft and familiar, and closes his eyes.

*

School gets worse after Christmas break ends.

Eric doesn’t know what happened - if someone found something out, or if he’s just got a bright pink FAG sign spray painted on his back now that he and Dylan have been fooling around - but he ends up in the crosshairs. There’s a group of guys Eric doesn’t know well, but they have something to say to him every time they cross paths.

A day into the new semester, they walk by and shove Eric face-first into his open locker.

“Fuckin’ fag,” one laughs, voices fading away. “Dumb homo bitch.”

No one in the halls says anything. It’s any other day.

Eric straightens himself up, then slams his locker door closed as hard as he can.

*

“DK!” he laughs, hauling ass through the snow. “Fuck!”

The other side of the creek bed blows up. There’s no other word for it. One second it looks like a regular creek covered in snow - a Colorado Christmas card - and the next, there’s mud and pebbles and water blasting through the air.

Dylan screams WOOOOOO! so loud, birds flap from the tree tops.

“That was so awesome.” Eric is genuinely proud of himself. Pazzie - the bomb, Eric has started giving each one a name due to them all being a ‘labor of love’ - was a huge success. He laughs as Dylan walks by and hits Eric’s ass with a lazy, long smack. Eric turns his head to keep him in his eyesight, and grins. “Did you see how high that went?”

Dylan grins back. “You could blow someone’s brains out with that.”

“Hell yeah,” Eric agrees. He steps up onto one of the big ancient boulders sunk deep into the edge of the river, and surveys the damage below. “Mark that one down as a success.”

They’re both quiet for a second, just the sound of the rushing, violent creek. Then Dylan walks over, boots crunching the frozen river rock, and comes to stand beside Eric’s boulder. As he lights a cigarette, Eric rests one hand on his shoulder for balance.

“We should get a camera from school,” Dylan says. “We could film our mission tests.”

With a fond, crooked smile on his face, Eric looks down at Dylan, and moves his gloved hand from Dylan’s shoulder, and up into his hair. It’s messy from the wind. Eric sinks his fingers in and tugs. Then Dylan laughs in the way Eric is learning means he’s turned on, and not just appreciating the joke.

When Dylan tries to duck away, shoulders squeezed up to his ears, Eric just pulls a little more, and then stoops down to ask right into the side of Dylan’s temple, “How’d you get so smart?”

“Fuck, stop.” Dylan makes that noise again - that laugh - and Eric gets a rush. He lets go of Dylan’s hair, and slides his hand down over the back of his head to grip the nape of his neck instead. Dylan shoves back. “Hey. Unless you wanna suck my dick in the woods.”

Eric thinks about those guys he saw in the magazine. He jerked off to one picture so many times, his dick hurt. 

“Is that an offer?” He’s dead serious.

Dylan looks up at him, because when Eric is standing on the boulder, he’s taller. They make hard eye contact, and then Dylan squints and grins. Eric would do it. He thinks about getting to his knees in the snow and pulling down Dylan’s BDUs just enough to get his dick out.

After a moment of chicken, Dylan says, “Don’t let me keep you.”

Eric drops off of the boulder with a crunch in the snow. He laughs as he reaches for Dylan’s pants with his gloved hand. They bump into each other, giggling, feeling stupid, and Dylan holds his cigarette to the side as Eric clumsily feels up his crotch.

Then there’s the crack and echo of wood snapping in the distance, and they both jump apart.

“Fuck.” All of a sudden Eric’s heart is beating in his throat. They both look around wildly, trying to figure out if anyone saw. After a few minutes, Eric says, “Let’s get out of here.”

Dylan tosses his butt in the creek and they hike back up to the park.

*

At Zach’s request, they’re in the church parking lot and listening to the new Primordial CD.

Eric hates it. The band is gay, Zach is lame, and Dylan keeps pretending like he gives a shit about anything Zach is saying.

He sits behind the wheel and smokes cigarettes as Zach and Dylan joke around, passing a crinkly family sized bag of Doritos between Dylan’s passenger seat to the back seat, where Zach is sitting and drinking beer by himself.

Eric daydreams about dropping with Zach into combat. How the smartest, fastest person would win.

Natural selection.

“Alright, I better peace,” Zach finally says. He stretches his hand up between the two front seats to get his shitty CD back. “Maybe we can hang out this weekend.”

Dylan ejects Zach’s CD from Eric’s CD player and flips the case open with the other hand.

“Sure.” Not a chance. Eric watches as Dylan hands Zach his CD back, and then opens the passenger door. He climbs out first and pops the seat so Zach can get out. Zach awkwardly unfolds himself from the very back seat, jacket getting stuck up on his sides as he twists. Once he’s outside, Eric hears Dylan ask, “You sure you don’t want a ride home?”

Zach is a little out of breath. “Nah, man. Gonna go see Devon.”

“Ah.” Dylan blindly reaches back into the car and flips the seat back. Eric watches his fingers wrap around the head rest, knuckles stained with gun powder. A dirty little secret. “Alright, man. See ya.”

Eric leans into the wheel and echoes a flat, “BYE.”

“Bye, man.” Zach already sounds like he’s walking away. “Catch you two later.”

Eric stares at the lower half of Dylan’s body framed in the car door, lanky legs tapering down into his clunky, tied up boots.

“Can we have some real fun now?” he complains as Dylan gets back in.

Laughing, Dylan closes the door and asks, “What do you have in mind?”

*

They decide to go back to Deer Creek Canyon Park, which has become their de facto makeout spot over the last month.

But before that - Eric wants to light off some fireworks.

“Hey, how about there?” Dylan asks, pointing up ahead. Eric’s headlights stretch over the gravel road. It’s pretty deserted, there’s a white van and a red truck parked along the shoulder, but no one is in them. “We can blow up Zach’s beer bottles.”

Eric pulls alongside the van and truck and throws it into park.

“I think I have some barrages.” He turns his ignition off and looks over at Dylan. “Do you still wanna make the smoke bombs this weekend? I have all the stuff now.”

Dylan stretches his arm out like they’re at the movie theatre. He rests it along the back of Eric’s head rest, fingers curling around Eric’s collar. He tips his chin to the side and smiles. “Hell yeah I do.”

“My parents should be gone Saturday night,” Eric says. “Alright, let’s get out.”

Zach drank three beers while they were sitting in the parking lot, so Eric digs his empties out from clinking around in the back seat and lines them up against a log. As he’s going back and forth between his trunk and the bottles, setting things up, Dylan says, “Hey I think there’s some stuff in this van.”

“What kind of stuff?” Eric asks. He lights one of his fireworks and takes a step back, watching as it ignites and burns and sizzles into a thousand tiny stars. It shoots up into the ink black sky and explodes. Then Eric turns to see what Dylan’s up to. “DK?”

The van Dylan is talking about says WESTOVER MECHANICAL SERVICES down the side. Dylan is at the passenger side window, trying to block the light with his hands as he peers in.

“I dunno.” Dylan shifts around, trying to get a better look. Eric lights another barrage. “Looks pretty good though. There might be some fuses and stuff we could use.”

That gets Eric’s attention. They’ve been researching parts - Eric found some plans for timed explosives online - and all of it is overpriced and a pain in the ass to get a hold of. So he leaves his final bottle unbroken and crunches over to where Dylan is standing.

“We could probably break the window,” he says after a second.

Dylan grins and pulls him in for a cold, excited kiss.

It isn’t easy to break the window, but it’s fun. They dig through Eric’s trunk and find a pair of thick ski gloves to split - Eric takes the right one, and Dylan takes the left. Before they walk back over to the van they light off the last barrage and kick around the chunky brown pieces of beer bottle until they crack.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Dylan finally says. He balls up his fist and punches the van window.

Eric’s entire body floods with adrenaline and dopamine. The way Dylan flips from regular guy to VoDKa turns Eric on, and knowing he’ll never be on the receiving end of DK’s rage makes him melt to a puddle.

“Fuck!” Dylan exclaims, out of breath. He punches again, a third time, mad. “We need something to throw through it.”

As Dylan steps away to look for something heavy, Eric gives it a try. It’s way harder than it looks in the movies. When Eric’s gloved knuckles connect with the glass, there is no give, just a solid, hollow _thunk._

Dylan comes back with a really big rock.

“Step back,” he warns, nodding Eric towards where they parked. “This is gonna get everywhere.”

It takes forever even with the rock. Eric stands to the side and keeps lookout as Dylan throws the rock at the window. It bounces off and lands on the ground loudly four times, but on the fifth, it hits just right. The window explodes into shards, and the rock lands inside the van on the passenger seat.

“Fuck yeah.” Eric steps forward and cleans the sharp glass from around the window frame with his ski glove. “That was awesome.”

Dylan laughs and watches as Eric unlocks the door for them from the inside.

The van is a score. They get a bunch of gauges, a meter, a calculator, a full socket tool set, and a professional grade flashlight. Eric snags the pair of sunglasses he sees in the center console, and Dylan takes a checkbook he finds in the glove compartment because he says he knows how to commit check fraud.

It takes 15 minutes, from the first punch to Dylan loading the last piece into Eric’s back seat.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Eric laughs, running around the side of his car.

Dylan drops into the passenger seat and they peel out of the gravel lot together.

*

Deer Creek Canyon Park is closed by the time they get there.

Eric idles at the long metal park gate as Dylan gets out of the car to investigate. The headlights illuminate Dylan’s body in the dead of the night. It doesn’t even look like the gate was locked, because it takes less than a minute for Dylan to untwist the chain and get it open. When he turns around and gives Eric a blind two thumbs up, Eric laughs happily and revs the engine.

He rolls just inside the park entrance and waits as Dylan closes the gate behind them.

“We got it all to ourselves,” Dylan announces, dropping back into the passenger seat.

Eric gives him a look out of the corner of his eye. “Well, you don’t say.”

They park where they always do, up near the trailhead. The lot is empty other than Eric’s car - there aren’t any overnight campers at this time of year. Eric peers through the windshield at the inky view outside. It’s pitch black, simultaneously claustrophobic and infinite.

Dylan taps the dome light on and puts one of his mix CDs in Eric’s car deck.

“We could probably go to my place,” Eric says, watching as Dylan picks up the socket tool set they stole. He flips the lid open. All Eric can focus on are the knobs of Dylan’s wrists and the way his fingers flex over the ratchet handles. “My parents will be asleep.”

Since they got suspended in November, Eric hasn’t been allowed back in the Klebold house.

“Yeah. We should put this stuff in your closet.” Dylan clicks the case back together, and reaches for the flashlight. “We can definitely use it all. That was a successful mission.”

He clicks the flashlight on. Eric squints and says, “Wow, that is really bright.”

“It’s got a clip on it.” Dylan snaps it open and then closed again. “See?”

Eric reaches over and takes the flashlight out of Dylan’s hand.

“Looks expensive,” he reviews, looking it over. It’s nice and heavy too. “We better put this stuff in the trunk.” Eric reaches to pop his trunk, and then opens his door. As he sticks one leg out, he says to Dylan, “You wanna watch Event Horizon tonight?”

Dylan is already getting out, too, socket set in one hand.

He doesn’t get to answer. Once Eric stands up outside, he realizes they aren’t alone out here.

“Boys,” the cop greets. His cruiser is a few feet away, lights off.

Eric feels his heart sink into his feet.

Behind him, on the other side of the car, Dylan freezes.

“Officer.” It’s the best thing Eric can think of.

The cop looks at him, and then Dylan. He shines his flashlight in both their faces.

“What are you up to?” he asks. “You been drinking?”

Dylan answers this time. “No, sir,” he says.

“We were just messing around.” As soon as it’s out of Eric’s mouth, he regrets saying it.

His pulse begins to ratchet up as the cop makes his way around the car. Fuck, Eric thinks, gritting his teeth and tightening his jaw.

“I heard you had some expensive stuff in here,” the cop says conversationally, and as soon as he says it, Eric knows they’re fucked. His shoulders sag, and he pivots a little, just enough to look at Dylan over the hood of the car. “Mind showing me?”

Eric exhales through his nose sharply. “Sure.”

It’s awful and infuriating to show the cop the things they stole. Dylan stands at the side, silent, as Eric points everything out. Eric can tell he’s fuming. 

“Boys,” the cop says. “Where did these things come from?”

Dylan finally talks. He lies and says, “It was all in the grass. Near Deer Creek Canyon Road.”

“Yeah,” Eric agrees easily. “Everything was just laying there. We thought it was free.”

The cop doesn’t believe them, and Eric knows it.

“Now boys.” He sets the socket set on Eric’s roof and looks at them both critically. “If that’s the truth, I’ll have them send another deputy to check it out, and he’ll let me know what he thinks. So be honest, now.”

Eric’s heart sinks. He and Dylan look at each other over the top of Eric’s car. 

“We stole it,” Dylan admits, still maintaining eye contact with Eric. “We broke into a truck, and we took everything we could find.”

Rage unfurls in Eric’s chest as the cop reaches for his belt and unclips his handcuffs. He feels the adrenaline ricocheting through his body, and for one small, split second, he fantasizes about disarming the cop and unloading a clip into his chest.

“I appreciate you boys telling the truth,” the cop says. Eric’s fist clenches at his side. “Now we’ll be going to the station.” Then he reaches up and says into his radio, “I got a 10-49, we need another deputy out at Deer Creek Canyon Park. I got two kids here admitting to break and entry and stolen possession. I’ll be taking one, we need transport for the other.”

Dylan looks right at Eric and says, “Fuck.”

“Son, I’ll get you to turn around.” Eric does so, on autopilot. He rests his hands at the small of his back, and feels the cool click of metal around them. “My name is Deputy Walsh. I’ll be taking you to the station tonight.”

The handcuffs are tight around his wrists, brutally restrictive. He grits out, “Eric. Harris.”

“And you?” the cop asks Dylan.

Dylan replies, with a flat voice, “My name is Dylan Klebold.”

Just like Walsh said, they’re separated and taken into custody. He gets them both in handcuffs, and leaves Dylan bent over the hood of Eric’s car as he loads Eric into the back of his cruiser. Eric watches through the window as the deputy pats Dylan down, just like he did to Eric. The red and blue lights flash. Dylan’s body painted in neon.

A few minutes later, a second cruiser arrives, rolling through the night, wheels crunching over the grit and twigs on the ground.

Eric groans and presses his forehead into the metal grate that separates the back seat from the front seat.

His parents are going to take everything away from him. Again.

*

They’re booked and released at the police station about an hour later.

Eric’s dad meets him there, face pulled tight with anger and worry. They don’t take mug shots, but they roll Eric’s thumb against an ink pad and press it flat to the paper attached to his booking forms. Eric sits silently. He doesn’t speak unless asked a direct question by the cops or his dad.

His dad spends the whole night trying to get ahold of their family lawyer. Eric doesn’t try to make any small talk.

He keeps looking around, waiting, but he doesn’t get to see Dylan at all.

*

“You’re going to face some serious consequences for this, Eric,” his dad tells him, voice terse and serious, on the ride home. “Some very serious consequences.”

Eric quietly says, “Yes, sir,” and continues to stare out the passenger side window.

It’s almost 4AM by the time they get back home. Snow is just starting to drift down from the sky as Eric walks up the stone path.

His mom is asleep on the couch with the cordless phone in one hand.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” is all his dad will say.

*

Eric uses his computer for school, so he doesn’t get his dial-up privileges taken away.

But Dylan isn’t online so it doesn’t matter.

All weekend, Eric checks his buddy list. But it’s just the same dull grey screen name every time.

*

Getting to leave for school on Monday morning is a relief. 

Eric pulls into the parking lot at school 30 minutes earlier than he usually would. It’s the first time he’s been in his car all weekend, because part of his punishment is that he’s only allowed to use it to drive to school and back… at least until his parents can work something permanent out.

As he rolls into his spot, Dylan stands up from where he was sitting and waiting on the curb.

“Fucking faggot ass pussies,” he greets Eric, swinging the passenger side door open. He flops down into the seat and grimaces. “I’m grounded for a month.”

Eric snorts. “That’s it?”

“I’m also not supposed to see you at all,” Dylan says, but it’s dismissive. He rolls his eyes and looks over at Eric. “I’ll strap a bomb to my neck before that happens.”

That makes Eric smile. 

“I got my car taken away,” he counters, which is ironic, considering they’re both sitting in it right now. The front seat continues to be the most accessible purlieu of their relationship. “I’m only allowed to use it for school.”

Dylan flippantly pulls his cigarettes out. “Gay.”

“Man, fuck that cop,” Eric complains. The rage boils up suddenly, because with Dylan here, Eric sees no point in trying to contain it. He lets it muscle through and fill him with hate. “He was listening to us the whole time.”

Lighting a cigarette, Dylan scoffs and agrees, “Fucking donut patrol.”

“And you know what?” It was hard spending the whole weekend unable to vent to Dylan, the only person on earth who understands him. Dylan makes a ‘hmm’ noise. “We did that stupid ass mechanic a favor.”

Dylan immediately agrees. “I bet he learned his lesson.”

“It was his own fault!” Eric slaps the palm of his hand against the edge of his steering wheel, and makes an aggravated sound. “I wish we killed that fat fuck cop.”

Laughing, Dylan adds, “It would have been easy.”

“God yeah,” Eric groans. He rubs his knuckles into his eyes until he sees stars, suddenly deep in a fantasy that ends with the two of them speeding off into the night. NBK. He raises his eyebrows and looks over at Dylan passionately. “We could have strapped that cop car up with bombs and blown it into the sky.”

Dylan grins over at him again.

“Nobody can keep me away from you,” he says. “My parents can suck my dick. And I don’t give a fuck about that mechanic. Or the cop.”

For the first time since Friday, Eric laughs, happy.

“Come over tonight.” He knows it’s a big ask, that Dylan is going to have to be on his best behavior for at least a few weeks. “We can watch a movie and play tomb.”

Dylan looks at him seriously. “You’ll see me.”

“Alright,” Eric agrees, raising his eyebrows. “Well, I’ll be waiting.”

Snorting, Dylan gets his cigarettes out, and opens the car door.

“They can’t drag me away from fate,” he says, giving Eric a look. “I won’t let them.”

Then he sticks his foot out, climbs out of Eric’s passenger seat, and gently presses the door closed behind him. All the warm air gets sucked out as Dylan leaves.

Eric watches him walk away before punching the steering wheel as hard as he can.

*

At 9:45, boots crunch in the snow by Eric’s bedroom window.

He stretches up to unhook the lock and slide it open.

“I _begged_ my parents to let me hang out with Brooks tonight,” Dylan complains, half in, and half out. His legs dangle down Eric’s bedroom wall, boots almost on the floor. “And they agreed, because they think-” He drops, carpet cushioning his landing. “-it would be ‘good for me’.” He shakes his head, and grabs Eric’s face with both hands. “Fuck that.”

With a grin squished by Dylan’s thumbs, Eric agrees, “I’m better.”

“You’re a homicidal maniac,” Dylan counters affectionately.

Eric leans into the kiss, and then says, “I have vodka.”

“Good, cause I brought this.” Dylan pulls two tall cans of beer out of his jacket pockets. “They were in my brother’s bag.”

Even beer and vodka is slim pickings compared to what they usually have. Fuck Brooks Brown for ratting him out to his parents.

“Good haul,” Eric appraises. “We can watch a movie once my parents go to bed.”

They dick around in Eric’s room for a while. Dylan flips through a rifle magazine on Eric’s bed, and Eric goes online for a bit, talks to a couple stupid people from school and then spends a little bit of time working on an assignment.

Just after 11, the creaky upstairs floor gets quiet.

Eric goes out into the TV room first. Waits at the bottom of the basement stairs, just to make sure, and then turns the cable box on, volume low.

“Poltergeist is on,” he says as Dylan creeps out of his bedroom.

Even though the plan was to drink and hang out, neither of them make it to midnight. It was a bullshit weekend, and a shitty Monday, and by 11:30 they’re both asleep on the couch, Dylan’s head cradled against Eric’s thigh.

*

Eric has to start seeing a new psychologist after the break and entry.

He charms his way through the first three therapy sessions, agrees to the new prescription they want him to try out, and acts really nice at the receptionist every time he has to stand there and choose a time for his next appointment.

As soon as he leaves the building, the smile drops off his face.

Then the emotion worksheets his therapist gave him for ‘homework’ get balled up and thrown onto the floor of his car.

“Stupid,” he says to himself, glaring in the rear view as he reverses out of the parking lot. 

His shift at Blackjack is starting in ten minutes and it’s going to take him that long to get there. Jason hasn’t put him and Dylan on the same shift since November, so it’s going to be another shitty day flipping pizzas by himself. He has to wait for someone to cross the sidewalk before he can pull out of the parking lot, so he lights a cigarette and glares at them. 

When he gets home a few hours later, Dylan is finally online again, but away. 

His away message says _fate put me in need of you._

Eric looks over at his bedroom window. Nothing but the cold black night swirling by outside. 

*

Eric is minding his business in the hallway when a group of guys approach him.

“What kind of girl would do that to _you_?” one of them sneers, getting in Eric’s face. Eric grits his teeth together and tries to lean back. “I thought you were some kind of fag or something.”

He didn’t realize Dylan bit a hickey into the side of his neck until this guy and his stupid friends point it out. Eric keeps his expression as neutral as he can, even though his heart is thudding in his throat.

“What, don’t have an answer, pretty boy?” he jeers, shoving Eric by the shoulder this time. The force of it snaps Eric sideways, elbow banging into his open locker. “What kind of dumb slut would give that to you?”

The words are out of Eric’s mouth before he can stop them.

“Your mom,” he sneers. “And she said to say ‘hi’ when I saw you.”

Anger tightens all the muscles in the guy’s face. “What did you say?”

“So, hi-” Eric grins, cutting himself off when the guy picks him up by the front of his t-shirt, and slams him back into the locker.

He’s short enough that his toes dangle uselessly against the floor.

“Hey!” an authoritative voice calls from down the hall. Eric gulps against the collar of his shirt, which is digging into his throat and making it hard to breathe. “Get to class!”

Eric drops down onto his feet when the guy lets go of him, but he isn’t expecting it, so he falls back against the locker loudly, and then stumbles to the side. The guy laughs and jeers with his friends as they walk away.

“Fuck,” Eric gulps, rubbing his throat. His shirt is all stretched out in front now, too.

There’s a clack of heels on the shiny floor, and Eric thinks the teacher is coming to help him.

“The bell went five minutes ago,” she says, looking down at him. “You better hurry.”

Eric glares up at her, grabs his book off the floor, and slams the locker as he walks away.

*

They get letters about their court date in March.

“We need to come up with a plan,” Dylan says.

It’s 8 at night, and they’re sitting on top of the metal jungle gym in the park across from the movie theatre. They have tickets to see Progeny at 9.

“Yeah.” Eric lights a cigarette and snorts. “I can be a good boy.”

All they have to do is sell their newly reformed lifestyles for a little while. Long enough to get their parents and Eric’s psychologist off their backs.

“Not me,” Dylan admits, grinning at him crookedly. “I got suspended again.”

It’s news to Eric. His eyebrows jerk up, and, genuinely surprised, he snaps, “What?”

“I got caught ‘defacing school property’,” Dylan says in a serious voice. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and makes a face. “I scratched my locker with a knife. They called my dad and everything.”

Eric groans dramatically. “For how long?”

“Just a week.” Dylan shrugs and slumps his shoulders.

Their boots clunk together as Eric kicks his foot.

“That’s bullshit,” he says passionately, expression tightening up. He notices the curious look on Dylan’s face, and explains, “One of the faggots from the football team knocked me into my locker today, and nobody said shit about it.”

Dylan snorts and starts picking at his fingernails. “Guess they were too busy stringing me up to care.”

“What were you writing?” Eric asks curiously, flicking his burnt cigarette butt into the darkness below.

"My initial. V. That's when a TA caught me, anyway," he says, rolling his eyes. “I wanted to do an R, too. Thank god I didn't, because my dad probably would have figured it out.”

Eric doesn’t want to talk about that. Their parents finding out about the way they are with each other is even more terrifying than getting caught with the arsenal they’re building. If Eric’s parents knew about Dylan, he’d be on a one-way trip to conversion camp and he’d never see this town or NBK ever again.

“Was he mad?” he asks, curious. If Eric got suspended again, his dad would be pissed.

Dylan shrugs. “Only a little. He told me we would spend the whole week working on the car.”

“Gay,” Eric says back. He rubs the spot on his shoulder that took the brunt of the impact when he got smashed into the locker and adds, “At least they didn’t take your computer away this time.”

Dylan shrugs again.

“Yeah. I figure it’ll keep him off my back for a while.” He knots his eyebrows together and looks at Eric seriously. “Did you get hurt?”

Eric shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

Dylan doesn’t say anything else about it, but he does get that look on his face.

*

The movie is really, really bad.

There were maybe a dozen other people in the theatre when they got here, but 20 minutes into the movie, one couple gets up and leaves.

Eric doesn’t mind it. He and Dylan sit at the back by themselves, and Dylan laughs every time the movie flashes back to a scene where the main character gets artificially impregnated by an alien. It’s a pretty good way to spend an otherwise shitty Friday night. He’d sit around in the dark anywhere as long as Dylan was there, too.

It is annoying though. If his parents hadn’t revoked his car privileges, he and Dylan would be parked somewhere else right now. Eric drinks one of the two beers they snuck in, and then eats most of the box of Nerds that Dylan stole from the concession counter.

Every time he glances over at Dylan, Dylan is watching the movie with a smile on his face.

Eric bumps Dylan’s elbow off the arm rest and grins when Dylan looks over at him curiously.

Then he takes Dylan’s hand, and flattens it out over his zipper.

“What?” he mouths, arching his eyebrows. When Dylan gives him a look, Eric presses his hips up into Dylan’s hand, and covers it with both of his own.

Dylan narrows his eyes at Eric, and then glances over his shoulder at the exit. Eric knows what he’s looking for, but there are no employees hanging around, and the other people watching the movie are way down at the front of the theatre.

He seems to come to the same conclusion Eric did. As Dylan turns to look back at the screen, he spreads his fingers out and rubs the cradle of his palm over Eric’s dick.

Grinning, Eric tries to go back to watching the movie, but it’s too hard to concentrate. 

His head gets all jumbled up with too many thoughts when Dylan touches him. He bites his lip and tries not to lift his hips up off the chair as Dylan rocks his hand back and forth between Eric’s legs.

Eric spreads his knees and tips his head back, staring up at the pitch black ceiling. His right elbow hurts because it’s taking his weight, and his left hand is still tight around Dylan’s forearm. He could probably come in his pants. He’d just have to walk home with dirty underwear.

The plot is finally starting to reach its climax when Dylan taps Eric’s belly with the back of his hand.

Eric looks over, disoriented, and watches as Dylan gives him their signal for ‘follow me.’ Eric nods, squeezes his dick one last time, and then presses his legs to the side so Dylan can get past him and go first.

They leave all their garbage and Dylan’s half finished beer behind.

Dylan worked in this theatre the summer before tenth grade, so he knows which screens are best, and where all the bathrooms are. 

The rest of the mezzanine is quiet as they walk along the dim, confetti colored corridor. It smells like movie popcorn and cigarettes. Eric glances back over his shoulder and follows Dylan through an exit door.

On the other side is another hallway, this one bland and beige.

Dylan goes first again, bouncing down three shallow steps. He looks back to make sure Eric is still with him before he pops open another door. 

It’s a custodial closet. Dylan pulls Eric in after him, and then locks them in by sticking a mop through the door handle.

“I knew kids who would come in here to smoke,” he explains, and Eric nods, and then they’re kissing.

Eric bangs back against the concrete wall, and it’s the same as getting thrown into his locker was, but it feels different on the inside. He twists both hands into the belly of Dylan’s t-shirt to pull him down, get him close, and Dylan stoops over, both arms around Eric’s narrow waist.

“Do you know what to,” Eric says into Dylan’s mouth. “How to do it?”

He’s breathing so fast he has to tip his head away from Dylan and press his skull into the wall behind them. Eric gulps, and swallows, and groans when Dylan kisses him one more time and untucks the sides of his t-shirt.

“I think about it all the time,” Dylan tells him, and Eric does too. It’s in his brain all the time, since he bought that magazine and for weeks before it. Dylan smiles crookedly. “I watch so much porn and pretend it’s you.”

Eric groans and lets his head fall to the side as Dylan goes back to sucking on his jaw. “Great.”

“I can be gentle,” Dylan says.

Maybe, or maybe not. Eric doesn’t even know if he wants it gentle. All the times he’s fantasized about sex, it’s been brutal. He thumps his head back again and swallows, throat dry. Dylan pulls away to look at him, and they stare at each other.

If this is like everything else, then Eric needs to be all in.

“You don’t have to be,” he says, and he means it. As long as it’s DK.

The corners of Dylan’s mouth lift up into a smile and he moves in to kiss Eric again. He makes it serious this time, and holds Eric by the jaw as he presses them against the wall. Eric holds onto Dylan’s shoulder with one hand, and unbuttons his BDUs with the other.

He’s been uncomfortably hard since they were watching the movie.

“Turn around,” Dylan tells him, so Eric pulls away and does that, moving so his nose almost bumps into the wall. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Eric won’t. He can take a hit, and he’ll take this, too. He wants to. He nods though, and tries to look back over his shoulder as he feels Dylan moving around. Dylan’s hands rest on Eric’s hips again, and he presses his mouth against the back of Eric’s shoulder.

“Don’t fuck around,” Eric pants, adrenaline making him agitated. “Just do it.”

Dylan grinds against the small of Eric’s back and twists his hands into Eric’s waist. “Bossy.”

“Yeah, well.” Eric’s heart starts to beat fast as Dylan tugs his belt open, and then his pants and his underwear down, until everything is bunched up around his thighs and his ass is hanging out like he’s about to get beat. A roll of terror and excitement edges through him. “I don’t want to get caught.”

Dylan grins and steps close again, shoving Eric’s t-shirt up around his chest.

“That’s the fun of it,” he says, and spits. “Just like lighting a bomb. Except this time, I'll kill anyone who sees us.”

An ugly whip of feelings crash through Eric’s chest. He turns his face to the side and grits, “DK.”

“I’m going,” Dylan whispers back, spitting again. He does something, Eric can’t see, and bites out a strangled, “Fuck.”

When Dylan grabs him again, Eric feels his dick press into his ass. Eric gets another surge of adrenaline, breathing fast, and steadies himself with both forearms pressed against the wall. He rests his forehead on them and closes his eyes.

Dylan wraps his lanky fingers around Eric’s hips and holds him still.

Eric doesn’t mean to, but he pants out a startled, “Fuck,” as nothing happens for a second, and then Dylan pulls an inch back and spits again, presses forward at a new angle, and sinks a little bit inside. Eric doesn’t know what happens, all of a sudden he has no control over himself, and his legs start to shake. He pants against his forearm, spit everywhere, and manages a, “Holy fuck, wait.”

It doesn’t hurt like he thought it would hurt, but his body starts pumping the adrenaline anyways.

He feels jerky and lightheaded as he stands there trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dylan is saying behind him, grip tight on Eric’s hips.

Eric widens his stance as much as he can with his pants choking him out around his thighs, and groans as his body tightens itself up and sends another round of shockwaves through his nervous system.

“Okay,” he finally says. He reaches for his dick. “Fuck, go, Dylan.”

Dylan spits again, and Eric feels it, and then he’s pushing in more, and Eric just breathes hard against the meat of his arm and keeps one hand tight around his dick because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I’m trying so hard not to, to,” Dylan stammers out, repeating himself. “To come.”

Eric shakes his head and thunks temple first into the wall.

“You can,” he manages, brutally jerking himself off. “You can.”

Dylan lets out a shaky breath. He fucks Eric slow for a minute, and Eric groans, unable to stop himself from making noise, even if he sounds like a girl. He pushes himself back from the wall with his sweaty hand, and Dylan fucks him twice more before he pulls out abruptly.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” Eric complains, gulping, twisting closer to the wall.

Behind him, Dylan makes a tight, sharp noise, and then swears, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, ugh.”

“Jesus,” Eric groans, squeezing his eyes closed as he comes.

Dylan staggers forward, and they both fall against the wall, one of Dylan’s hands coming up to twist around Eric's waist with a squeeze.

It takes them a minute to catch their breath. Then Dylan quietly says, “If anyone hurts you, I really would kill them.”

And that’s where it starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1998 was originally supposed to be just 1 chapter, but it's going to be WAY too big, so now it will be 3 chapters.
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments on [97](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24437308). I really wasn't expecting to get a warm welcome lol and I appreciate it so much!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

Eric looks both ways down the empty aisle, and jams the box in his jacket pocket.

Then he grabs a pack of AAA batteries to buy at the convenience counter.

“And five dollars regular, please,” he adds.

“You bet. Cold one out there today, huh?” the old guy behind the counter says. He rings up Eric’s batteries and punches some buttons on his cash register. “Real snappy for March.”

Eric nods politely. “I hear it’s supposed to warm up some next week.”

“Oh, I never believe that. When they tell you the sun is coming, that just means we’re gonna get more snow,” he sighs, trying to get the staticky plastic bag open with cold, dry old fingers. “That you on four?”

Even though Eric knows what pump he parked at, he looks out the window anyway. His car is the only one out there and Dylan is propped against the front bumper. Eric watches him rub his sunglasses with the inside of his t-shirt, and then grimace up at the bright white sky.

“That’s me,” he nods after a second, turning back, and the clerk takes his money and waves him off with a, “Have a nice day, son.”

Eric stalks back to the car with stilted, excited steps. Dylan is already pumping his gas.

“Here,” he says, tossing the bagged up batteries over.

Dylan’s hand jerks out and he catches them against his belly with a curious look. “What’s this?”

“A distraction.”

He walks around to the driver’s side and gets back in, sits there with his heart thudding in his chest as he watches Dylan’s lanky torso through the back passenger window.

After another minute, Dylan puts the pump back and screws Eric’s tank closed.

“What distraction?” he asks, getting back in the car as Eric turns the ignition on. Eric watches him open the plastic bag curiously. They do need the AAAs for a couple things they’ve been working on, but it’s not a time sensitive project. “Batteries?”

Eric takes the lube out of his jacket as he rolls away from the pump, and tosses it over.

“What,” Dylan says again, flipping the box around. “Oh.”

They have to wait at the exit for a minute before there’s a big enough gap in the busy mid-day traffic for them to pull out. As they sit there, car idling, Eric laughs and imitates Dylan’s, “Oh.”

“Did anyone see you?” Dylan asks, cutting his question abruptly to hide the box under his shirt when another car rolls up next to them in the other turn lane. He looks over at Eric just as there’s a dip in traffic; Eric can feel him staring as they squeal out across the four-lane road. “How did you know what one to get?”

Eric shifts around, moves his thighs apart. He vaguely answers, “I read about it.”

“Huh,” Dylan says back. A minute later, Eric hears a weird noise, and Dylan swears. “Fuck. This is watery.”

Then the sound of its cap snapping closed, and a thunk as it hits the rubber floor mat.

“What the fuck!” Eric complains, trying to look over at Dylan and also keep his eyes on the road. Dylan is wiping one hand off on his pants, and trying to awkwardly bend over enough to reach something on the floor between his feet. Eric just got his car back YESTERDAY. If he stains the interior, his dad will kill him. “Don’t get it on my seats!”

Dylan picks the bottle up and holds his other slimy hand out. “It’s slippery!”

“Wow, somebody alert the media.” Eric keeps one eye on the road as he stretches over, reaching between Dylan’s knees to pop the button on his glove compartment. He blindly gets a wedge of napkins out. “Man, it’s everywhere. Gross!”

Even with the brief looks Eric is taking, he can tell Dylan’s got it all over his leg and hand.

He rolls to a stop at freshly red light and tisks as he watches Dylan try and clean everything up with the papery drive through napkins.

“I didn’t get it on the seat,” Dylan swears. “It came out fast, fuck. Do you want to park somewhere?”

The light turns green so Eric hits the gas.

“And get caught by another pig? No way,” Eric snorts. “What about your house?”

Dylan shakes his head. “My dad is home.”

“Fuck your dad,” Eric announces, grinning. “So you can fuck me instead.”

The mountains fly by outside; Dylan glances over at him, and Eric feels it, so he looks over, too.

“What about tonight? I can come over,” he suggests.

Normally that would be an easy “yes.” Dylan has been sneaking through his bedroom window a couple times a week since November, but now…

“There’s too much of a risk,” he says, glancing over again. “My parents can’t find out about us.”

He says ‘us’ but what he really means is ‘me.’ Even if Eric was normal, he would never, ever be comfortable doing that kind of thing where his parents could overhear. If Eric’s dad walked in on them, with Eric getting fucked like a girl, he would have to blow his brains out right there.

“Yeah, you do make noise,” Dylan says offhandedly. Eric’s shoulders tense up, and he feels his cheeks get hot. It only takes a second before Dylan realizes what he said and tries to backtrack. “I mean. I like it. I like when you- do that stuff.”

Eric tightens his grip around the steering wheel, heart racing. “Shut up.”

“I like it, Reb. I do,” Dylan reiterates. “I jerk off and think about it all the time.”

Jesus, Eric feels like his cheeks are red hots. He snaps, “Shut _up_ , Dylan.”

There’s a hesitant moment where he can tell Dylan is trying to figure out if he should say anything else or let it drop. Eric tries to ignore how embarrassed he feels; he glares out at the highway and violently knocks his turn signal on.

“Bowles Lake is always a ghost town,” Dylan finally says.

Eric tugs his shirt away from his throat. It’s a million degrees in here.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, clearing his throat and swallowing tightly.

*

They do go to Bowles Lake, but not until it’s dark out.

“Pretty,” Dylan comments, looking out at the way the moon and stars reflect off the water.

Eric is too on edge to appreciate the glimmer of the night sky, but he says, “Oh yeah,” anyway.

He follows Dylan down the narrow dirt path that leads away from the parking lot. They walk in silence for a few minutes, Eric staring at Dylan’s heels, until the railing abruptly ends and opens up to a sprawling pit of overgrown brush.

Dylan climbs over the railing easily. He swings one leg over, shifts his weight onto that foot, and then swings his other leg over. Eric watches as he adjusts his hands on the railing, a two-handed grip that tightens and squeezes, looks down over one shoulder, and drops.

He disappears into the dark pit below.

Eric follows, taking one last look back at the parking lot in the distance before he steps up and over the railing, using the rungs like a ladder. He carefully steps back down over the other side and peers down.

“It’s a soft landing,” Dylan tells him.

It’s not even that far of a drop, probably only six feet or so, but it sure feels bigger than that when it’s a leap of faith. Eric lets go of the railing and turns himself around against it. He can’t see where he’s going to land, but he jumps anyway.

The ground is soft, just lake mud that’s dried out now that it isn’t snowing so much.

“This is a pretty good spot,” he comments, carefully following Dylan along the strip of bank that separates the edge of the lake from the concrete retaining wall they jumped down from. It’s not even that muddy, and now that Eric’s eyes have adjusted, he can see a little better.

A few feet ahead, Dylan kicks something to the side. It sounds like a rock as it rolls and hollowly bounces over the dirt.

“You can’t see anything down here from the parking lot,” he says conversationally, glancing back over his shoulder. “Me and Zach used to smoke down here.”

Eric still doesn’t like Zach, but he comments, “Nice, “ anyways.

They walk another ten minutes, until the parking lot above is long gone, and it’s just a stretch of trees above them on one side and the lake below them on the other. It’s a calm night. Eric likes it.

“We’re good here,” Dylan decides.

Eric hooks an arm around Dylan’s back as they kiss for the first time all day. He doesn’t know how anyone walks around getting anything done. If he didn’t have to hide the way he felt about Dylan, he would never leave him alone.

With a little tug, Dylan walks them backwards until his boot bumps into something heel first.

“Woah,” he says into Eric’s mouth, both hands tightening on his shoulders.

Eric reaches to unbutton his fly. “Let’s make this fast.”

In a perfect world they would have some privacy, but that won’t happen with everyone in town - including his dad, his psychologist, the judge, Brooks, and Dylan’s mom - up his ass. It’s been two days since they saw Progeny, and Eric isn’t jerking it alone for one more night.

“Ugh,” Dylan says behind him. “This is so gross. It’s so wet. Do I put it on my dick?”

Eric laughs at first, but then feels hot and squirmy when Dylan starts jerking off beside him with the lube he stole from the gas station. Eric tugs his pants down around his thighs again, like Dylan did to him the other night, and bends over at the waist to brace himself against the log.

“C’mon, DK,” he whispers.

They’re too far away from the parking lot for anyone to see them, or hear them, but there are headlights in the far distance. Eric hangs his head down between his shoulders.

“Okay,” Dylan says quietly, right behind him. His left hand touches Eric’s hip, and then his right hand bumps, knuckles first, against Eric’s ass. Eric swallows tightly and tries to take a deep breath, but he’s buzzing, excited. “Fuck, this is so hot.”

Eric opens his mouth to snap out some more instructions, but before he can, Dylan pushes his dick in, and it goes in so much easier than the other night.

His body responds the same, though - adrenaline, shaking, all the thoughts in his head pouring out of one ear. Eric lets out an uncontrollably shallow breath and shifts his weight against the beach log so he doesn’t fall over it.

“Fuck, fuck,” Dylan is saying over and over, pulling back on Eric’s hips with a tight grip, fingers knuckling into Eric’s thighs.

Eric can’t even pick up his head. He just stands there, legs kicked wide, and gulps out big, shaky breaths as Dylan starts to fuck him - properly this time, faster than they did the first time.

“Do it,” Dylan says, voice cracking and shaky. “Do it, do it.”

He feels his dick get hard and hot as Dylan rails him, too hard and too fast, but all Eric can do is ride it out, panting sloppily and being loud, and he doesn’t realize that was what Dylan wanted until Dylan groans and drops his face into Eric’s neck.

Eric tries to swallow his reaction after that, but it’s like trying to stop the hiccups. He peels his hand away from the splintery log and reaches back for one of Dylan’s arms, pulls it over his shoulder and presses Dylan’s jacket sleeve against his mouth.

It doesn’t do anything to help, Eric just opens his wet, spitty mouth and gasps even more, but he feels Dylan’s forearm tense and jerk underneath the fabric.

“I’m gonna, gonna, ugh,” Dylan pants, and then the arm around Eric’s head tightens up, and Dylan hammers him a couple of times completely off-rhythm and sharp, and Eric lets go of the log altogether and grabs onto Dylan’s forearm so he doesn’t fall over. “Fuck, Reb.”

Eric jerks himself off and bites Dylan’s arm as he comes, so fast and so big it almost hurts. 

His face bumps against the strap of Dylan’s watch as he flops his head forward, mouth hanging open against Dylan’s forearm, out of breath.

Having sex makes them even more godlike than they already were.

*

They go to Burger King and get food after that. 

“Thanks,” Dylan tells him, accepting the bag that is handed to Eric via the drive through window.

They park in the parking lot, listen to music, and eat their food. Just the two of them. How Eric likes it. 

He rubs his hand palm down over his knee as he eats his burger one-handed. It feels like there’s something in it, so he keeps looking at it, chewing and holding his hand out, trying to angle it better under the dim interior light.

“What’s wrong?” Dylan asks after a minute, munching on his fries.

Eric shrugs. “I think I got a splinter or something.”

Without thinking, he holds his hand out for Dylan to inspect. Dylan wipes his greasy fingers off on the thigh of his pants, and holds Eric’s hand with both of his. Eric sits, quietly eating, watching the stretch of Dylan’s fingers over his, thumb bracing against the soft webbing between Eric’s thumb and pointer finger.

Dylan shoves his hips up off the seat and digs around in his back pocket, then comes up with his pocket knife.

“No way!” Eric says through a mouthful of food, trying to take his hand back.

Dylan looks over at him with a flat expression and doesn’t let go of Eric’s wrist. “I’ll get it out in one second. I swear.”

“Do not fuck my hand up,” Eric threatens, uncurling his fingers and exposing the soft part of his palm. “I’ll actually kill you.”

Dylan rolls his eyes, and, with his half-eaten food still in his lap right under Eric’s hand, gently scrapes the blade of his knife over Eric’s palm. Eric watches quietly as Dylan does it a couple of times, and then wipes the blade off on his pants.

“Thank you,” Eric says, even though he doesn’t even know if it helped. 

He takes his hand back and Dylan goes back to eating.

Eric stares down at his palm, the pink scrape of Dylan’s knife, and tries not to say something stupid.

*

RC_VoDKa: my dad said he was going to work from home all week

REB DoMiNe: ya

RC_VoDKa: to keep an eye on me

REB DoMiNe: yaa

RC_VoDKa: well he got called in tomorrow

REB DoMiNe: yaaaaaa

RC_VoDKa: so i’ll be home by myself tomorrow and Fri

RC_VoDKa: =]

REB DoMiNe: gawd 

REB DoMiNe: that’s the best news i heard today

REB DoMiNe: this week SSSSUUUUUCCCKKKKSSSSSS

RC_VoDKa: yea

REB DoMiNe: i’ll skip tmororrow

RC_VoDKa: call me when your parents leave

*

In Dylan’s absence, Eric has been putting some stuff together in the garage after school.

But having Dylan there with him is infinitely better.

He cracks open a new thing of kerosene and glances back over one shoulder when he hears Dylan get frustrated and swear under his breath.

“These fuckers are hard to cut,” Dylan says, trying to reposition the pipe in Eric’s dad’s workbench clamp. He grits his teeth and starts sawing again. “Jesus christ.”

Eric laughs and starts portioning the kerosene out. All this stuff has to be done in the garage, which is infinitely more dangerous than the basement. There’s barely any cover out here. If Eric’s parents came home early, he’d be screwed.

“A hard day’s work,” he comments, delicately tipping the kerosene back.

Dylan grunts and continues sawing up the last thing of pipe Eric hadn’t got around to yet.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Dylan says, “I’m going to tell Brooks about the mission site.”

“What?” Eric blurts, standing up. He screws his face up, pissed off - Eric has been planning Brooke’s demise since he ratted Eric out to all their parents, and the windshield before that. Two _more_ reasons for the Klebolds to not trust him. “Why?”

Dylan raises his eyebrows. “Hear me out. I’ll show him some of our notes, stuff we’ve been doing.”

“DK…” Eric grimaces, trailing off.

They look at each other, and then Eric walks closer to get one of the work rags off his dad’s bench.

“It’s a test,” Dylan tells him. His face is earnest. “Like, an ultimate one. If we flip this in Brook’s face and he still can’t do shit about it? Who would stop us after that?”

Eric tries not to get pissed off as he replies, “What if everyone believes him?”

“You can’t change fate,” Dylan shrugs, tossing the last cut pipe into one of the duffel bags Eric has been carrying their materials to and from his room with. “Don’t tell me it wouldn’t make you a little happy, if Brooks knew.”

That is true. Eric would love nothing more than to dangle this right in front of Brook’s nose and then snatch it away before he can do anything about it.

“Be careful, Vodka,” is what Eric settles on saying. He starts stripping the label off the kerosene bottle so he can throw it away. As an afterthought, he adds, “Brooks can kiss my ass, though, you are right about that.”

They finish up in the garage, and Eric is very proud to show Dylan his latest, Peltro. It takes another hour to get everything done and moved down to Eric’s room. Luckily they finish by two, which gives Eric enough time to drive Dylan home before his dad finishes work, and then to fuck around for a little bit, long enough for _his_ parents to get home so Eric can pretend to come back from school.

“DK,” Eric says again, this time into Dylan’s mouth. “Ow! Fuck!”

Dylan grins down at him, arms bracketing Eric’s head against the couch cushions. “Pussy.”

“You wish,” Eric says without thinking.

He looks up at the ceiling as Dylan goes back to sucking his neck, saying, “Nah, I like your ass.”

“Fag,” Eric pants, even as he squirms.

Dylan makes a ‘hmm’ noise, and then bites right where Eric’s earlobe meets his jaw. Eric jerks underneath him and tries to shove him away.

“Stop!” he snaps, covering the spot up with his hand. “Not where everyone can see.” Eric can’t take another week of getting rocks thrown at him, especially if Dylan is still suspended. “Get up, anyway. I already said you’re gonna be late.”

He feels the way Dylan deflates on top of him, instantly feeling a hundred pounds heavier.

Eric lays there for a second, silently staring at the digital clock on his VCR across the room, and then a minute later Dylan slowly pulls himself back up and sits at Eric’s feet. Eric lifts his heel up and punches Dylan in the shoulder with it.

“Don’t,” Dylan says, laughing, which makes Eric laugh.

He swings back up to a sitting position, and tries to ignore his hard dick as he jams his feet back into his boots and leans over to press a solid, well deserved kiss on Dylan’s cheek. 

*

He does get Dylan home in time. As Eric is driving back across town by himself, he swears he sees Dylan’s dad’s car on the highway headed in the opposite direction.

*

RC_VoDKa: i told him

RC_VoDKa: i gave him the address

RC_VoDKa: and he ratted us out to his dad lol

REB DoMiNe: SHOOOOOCKER

RC_VoDKa: right away

REB DoMiNe: brooks is a total bitch

REB DoMiNe: more at 11

RC_VoDKa: yea

RC_VoDKa: well his dad tried to call the cops on u

RC_VoDKa: and nobody gave a shit lol

REB DoMiNe: muahahaha

REB DoMiNe: hahaaahhhhaaaaaahhhahaha

RC_VoDKa: we are TRULY godlike

REB DoMiNe: sucks to suck

REB DoMiNe: hey

RC_VoDKa: ?

REB DoMiNe: have you filled out your diversion paperowk yet?

RC_VoDKa: nah

Eric has been working his way through the stack his dad’s lawyer gave him for days. It’s a waste of time and life, and the fact Eric has to sell himself just to get the pleasure of taking anger management classes and doing community service pisses him off.

REB DoMiNe: you have to talk about so much stuff

RC_VoDKa: gay

REB DoMiNe: mhm

REB DoMiNe: we should agree on some things

REB DoMiNe: theres a whole section about drinking and drugs

REB DoMiNe: and stuff lie that

RC_VoDKa: yah

RC_VoDKa: we have to sell it

REB DoMiNe: exactly

*

On the 25th they go to court, and Eric’s mom makes him wear khakis and a white button down.

“You’ll be fine,” she tells him, brushing off his shoulders as they wait for his dad to park the car outside. “Just tell the judge the truth and you’ll be fine.”

Eric nods, but his heart is sinking. 

He feels uncomfortable and faggy in his outfit as he walks up the steps of the courthouse, and he tries to keep his shoulders as straight as he can, else his dad will have something to say about it. He keeps giving Eric the eye from behind his mom, watching him like he’s going to do something bad.

Eric forces a blank expression on his face, and files into the courtroom with his parents.

Everyone is inside, and that makes it worse. Dylan, his parents, and the cop who caught them that night. Eric gives Dylan a blank stare from across the room and feels a little better at the hard, severe way Dylan looks back at him. They lock eyes for a second, and then Dylan’s mom taps him on the shoulder, and that expression that was just for Eric shutters away, and the neutrality is back on his face, and so Eric makes sure his looks like that, too.

“The judge seems nice,” his mom says, already sitting beside him nervously with her tissues clutched in one hand. When she speaks she leans into Eric’s side, close enough to whisper.

Eric brings one hand up to rub over his ear. He clenches his jaw and wonders if she can sense how often Dylan kisses him there.

There are a few other hearings before theirs, and when their names are called, he and Dylan go up there together. It takes a minute, Eric’s dad’s lawyer is representing both of them, and as he shuffles his papers and gets himself ready up at the front, Eric meets Dylan up there nervously.

He keeps his mouth shut as the judge and their lawyer go through the basics. They aren’t standing close together, maybe less than an arm’s length apart, but Eric has an acute sense of where Dylan is, and he feels uncomfortable with both of their families sitting behind them, watching. What if they see something in their body language?

Eric tries to square himself up. He clears his throat before he talks, only says something when asked to, and tries not to think too much about how he’s standing in front of a judge with Dylan - the best they’re ever going to get, because there will never, ever be a priest.

The judge gives them shit about everything - EVERYTHING - and Eric feels the rage bottling up inside as he has to sit there and take it.

Eric can tell the judge doesn’t believe a word that’s coming out of their mouths, and the fact that he has to shut the fuck up and say ‘thank you’ every time the judge condesends them sends Eric spiralling towards the edge. He feels his heart rate getting higher, and higher, and he presses his lips together and swallows against how tight his collar feels.

The judge formally enters them into the diversion program, and Eric’s dad’s lawyer thanks him, and then Eric and Dylan have to, too.

Then the judge says, “Straighten up, boys, before it’s too late,” and something hot and secret flickers in Eric’s chest.

“Yes, sir,” they both say in unison, and if he could, Eric would laugh.

After the sentencing, they all leave the courtroom together, all their parents and them standing out in the hallway, so awkward that Eric wants to climb up the walls. Their parents don’t really talk to each other, just their moms making stilted, awkward chitchat.

Eric’s dad thinks Dylan’s parents are hippies, and the Klebolds haven’t said a word to Eric in months.

*

RC_VoDKa: that was humilaiting

REB DoMiNe: rrrrrrrrr

REB DoMiNe: i’m gonna rip that cops legs off

REB DoMiNe: and EAT THEM

RC_VoDKa: eat me first lol

REB DoMiNe: fuck that pig

REB DoMiNe: heh

RC_VoDKa: can you come pick me up?

REB DoMiNe: ya

REB DoMiNe: i can be there at 945

*

Eric cuts across town with the ugly feelings he’s been nursing all day.

It’s dark in his car, and he drives methodically, enjoying how few other people are on the road and how sharp the night air is. No sunglasses, no hat, nothing like that because evenings are sacred, and they always have been - quiet, lonely hours that Eric has kept to himself his whole life.

He meets Dylan where Cougar turns into Buckhorn. Dylan is waiting at the shoulder in the dark.

The car tires crunch over salt and gravel as Eric slows down and leans across to pop the door open, straightening up as Dylan gets inside. He’s all leg, the fitted black cargo pants new, something he got when they were at the army navy surplus a few weeks ago.

Eric pulls away before Dylan has the door closed or his belt on, because he can’t wait to get out of here.

“Well,” Dylan belatedly says, flipping the sun visor back up from where he put it down last time he was in the car and it was daylight. “That fucking sucked.”

Eric glares over at him and agrees, “It was worse than I even thought it would be.”

“How illegal do you think it is to mail a judge a pipe bomb?” Dylan asks, getting his cigarettes out.

Eric laughs despite himself. “Pretty fucking illegal.”

“Do you think he’d know it was us?” Dylan jokes.

Eric grits his teeth together and aggressively flips his blinker on. “I would seal that fucking thing with a kiss.”

“He wouldn’t deserve it,” Dylan snorts, lighting his cigarette. Eric smiles despite himself and glances over before he changes lanes. Dylan cracks the window so he can ash out it. “My parents are happy about diversion, though. They don’t even care we’re doing it together.”

Eric snorts. “Thank god for small miracles.”

They go west to Conifer because they both want to get out of town. Before they drive through the mountains, Eric pulls into a gas station to put another $10 in. Dylan pays for everything, and laughs when Eric humps the pump as he fills his tank up. They get snacks and disgusting black coffee and another pack of cigarettes for the road.

It’s colder in the mountains. Eric flips the heat on and Dylan munches on the bag of snacks he bought, and they listen to a mix cd as they drive up the backroads. Honestly, Eric doesn’t know this area very well, but he follows the signs, and eventually they find a logging road on a reservation and drive down it because there’s nobody else around.

Eric parks when the trees get so dense it’s pitch black and all you can see are the headlights out front, and the white stars up in the sky.

“God, it’s cold,” he complains. “I didn’t even bring my jacket.”

Dylan grins. “I would give you mine but you would fall right out of the arm.”

“Fuck you,” Eric says reflexively. Dylan’s jokes about his size hit at a strange new intersection where Eric simultaneously hates himself but likes the way Dylan fucks him. “You might be taller, but I’m definitely stronger than you are.”

Dylan snorts, “No way,” which is why Eric snaps an arm out, elbow straight, and hits him in the chest.

Eric starts laughing right away, especially at the shocked look on Dylan’s face. They stare at each other for a minute, Eric laughing, and Dylan with his mouth hanging open in surprise, before Dylan launches himself over the front seat console.

They both bang hard against the inside of the driver side door, and Eric hears himself laughing - giggling, a stupid _hyuk hyuk_ because he can’t catch his breath - and Dylan is right, he is way stronger than Eric, but Eric is determined.

As they both laugh and try to shove each other lower, Eric gets his door unlatched. It pops open aggressively with their combined weight on it, and then Eric tumbles out, upper half sprawling out of the car, lower half still attached from his seat belt and Dylan’s weight.

They both laugh so hard they can’t catch their breath, too weak to even really do anything about it, but Dylan awkwardly climbs out over him, straddling Eric’s face as he lankily hops over his head and lands on the other side.

Eric gets the belt undone and flops down to the floor, and then reaches up, winds his fingers into the belt of Dylan’s jacket, and pulls himself back up to his feet.

It throws Dylan’s balance, but he holds them both up, laughing as Eric pops up covered in dirt and pine needles from the ground. He shoves Eric back against the open door, but Eric is still holding him tight, so they both go stumbling backwards.

They kiss against the side of Eric’s car, driver’s side door still wide open, all the interior lights on, battery alarm beeping in the otherwise quiet night. Eric presses his dick on Dylan’s thigh and shoves them both against the car, hands twisting through the open flaps of Dylan’s jacket and the t-shirt underneath it. Then his hands move down another inch to Dylan’s fly.

Eric feels Dylan’s fingers brush over his hair as he decisively drops down to one knee.

“Did you see our names together on those forms,” Dylan says, breath coming sharp, hard. Eric pulls Dylan’s zipper down and tugs his fly open. “When they ask why everything happened the way it did, they’ll see how it was always us against them.”

It’s so cold Dylan flinches when Eric wraps a hand around his dick.

“They pushed us, and pushed us,” Dylan pants, and Eric feels the pads of Dylan’s fingers pressing into his skull. He takes one last look up, Dylan staring down at him, and then leans in and digs his nose into the fly of Dylan’s pants. He gulps, trying to catch his breath, and groans as he hears Dylan swear and feels his fingers grip a little harder. “Fuck, Reb.”

Eric slowly, methodically sucks Dylan’s dick, even though he doesn’t do a good job, even though it isn’t like the straight porn he’s seen on TV or the Bound & Gagged magazine he jerked it to every night for a month. He gags and spits when his mouth waters too much, twists his hands up Dylan’s sides, fingers curled under Dylan’s shirt.

Down on his knees in the dirt, Eric pulls his mouth off of Dylan’s dick, and sticks his hand down the front of his pants so he can jerk off.

Dylan does the same thing, and Eric presses his face against Dylan’s thigh as he comes.

As Eric gets back to his feet, knees caked with dust, Dylan kicks a footfull of forest underbrush over where they both came in the dirt.

*

“You and Dylan sure still like spending time together,” his mom says one Sunday night, when they’re all eating dinner around the table.

Eric goes cold. He glances up from where he’s cutting up his porkchop and shrugs. “We have a lot in common.”

“What about your old soccer friends?” his mom presses, not exactly subtle. “Do you have any of them in your classes?”

Eric shrugs again. “Dylan is my friend from soccer.”

“Eric,” his dad says, voice firm.

There’s a tense, silent moment as his parents look at him, and Eric stares down at his fingers pressing white over his knife and fork. Kevin butters a piece of bread silently.

“We just think that…” his mom trails off, faltering. “We think it would be good if you spent some time with people who aren’t Dylan.”

Eric keeps his mouth shut and nods. There’s no point arguing.

*

Dylan finishes working on his car with his dad just in time for Eric’s birthday.

“Just the two of us,” he says, sucking on his slurpee. “My parents even know about it.”

Eric snorts and gives a flat, unaffected, “Wow.”

“Wyoming?” Dylan continues, shaking the frozen ice at the bottom around. “We can stop and get some fireworks and explode them in the desert.”

It sounds like Heaven. A few days later, Dylan is picking Eric up at his house for once.

“Be careful,” Eric’s mom says, seeing him off at the door. She doesn’t say anything about Dylan, and Eric maintains they’re going to meet a couple other people from school once they get out there. They both know he’s lying. She won’t tell his dad. “Don’t forget your flashlight and your map.”

Eric pats the BB gun butt sticking out of the duffel slung over his shoulder. “We’ll be fine.”

They already loaded all their crap into Dylan’s car last night. The tent, a bag of gear, a bottle of booze, a deck of cards, Peltro, a bag of some small explosive type things Eric has been making at night while watching TV, cash for fireworks, and food. In the duffel slung over Eric’s shoulder, his BB gun, a couple knives, matches, and one pair of gloves to share.

“See you Sunday,” she tells him, and Eric waves over his shoulder as he lugs his bag through the front door. “Remember, be back for dinner.”

Dylan is parked at the curb. He meets Eric at the trunk and opens it for him.

“Your mom pissed?” he asks, hand still resting along the edge of the trunk. Dylan squints up at the house; Eric didn’t look back, he doesn’t know if his mom is waiting for his departure on the stoop like Mrs. Klebold always does. Dylan comments, “She looks alright.”

He belatedly holds one hand up in an aborted wave. Eric snorts and puts his sunglasses on.

“She’s fine.” Eric takes a step back. “Let’s not get pulled over with all this shit in the trunk.”

Dylan gives him a crooked grin, crosses his heart, and says, “I’m on my best behavior.”

“I didn’t ask for that,” Eric replies, walking around to the passenger side door.

The drive up to Wyoming is actually one of Eric’s favorites, and it’s a novelty to be the one in the passenger seat. He’s been parading Dylan’s ass around town for almost two years now, even though they only got their licenses five months apart.

It takes a couple hours to get up to the border, and then they stop for gas and sandwiches once they’re in Cheyenne. Eric makes smalltalk with the lady in Subway who makes their food, and they get pretty good directions to a roadside firework stand.

“I want some to blow up now and some to take apart later,” Eric says when they’re back in the car, flying down the I-25 with Eric’s neatly legible directions written down on the back of their lunch receipt. “Maybe we could stop on the way back, too.”

Dylan lights a cigarette as he’s driving and easily agrees, “Sure.”

*

The campsite is in the desert, brown dirt as far as Eric can see, and then blue mountains beyond that.

“You could die out here and no one would ever know,” Dylan comments.

Eric straightens up from where he’s been bent over putting the tent together, and smirks at Dylan, who is leaning up against the side of the car, eating beef jerky with one hand and throwing bang snaps at the ground with the other.

“Back into the dirt,” Eric agrees easily, snapping a pole together. “Right where you came from.”

Dylan doesn’t say anything for a minute, just methodically flips the bang snaps at the ground.

“Are you scared about that?” he asks, and Eric looks over.

A little adrenaline pops in Eric’s chest - excitement, nervousness. It’s all the same feeling. He shakes his head. He isn’t afraid of NBK. Not at all.

“No,” he says, flat, honest. He raises his eyebrows. “It’s going to be the best day of my life.”

Dylan grins at him, slow, and shakes his head. Eric clears his throat and goes back to the tent, threading the poles through the fabric. He’s particular about this kind of thing and Dylan never does it right.

“Me too,” Dylan tells him finally, and when Eric looks over, they smile at each other.

*

They walk out into the desert, until their campsite is a warm glowing spot in the distance, and light off some of the fireworks Eric bought at the stand. Then Eric kneels down to delicately remove Peltro from his duffel.

“We should probably run about fifty feet,” he says, sticking a match end between his teeth as he squints out at the horizon. “We’ll have twenty seconds.”

This is the first time Eric has used a timer. It took them forever to source the parts, too.

“Tick tock,” Dylan laughs. He screws the cap back on the vodka bottle. “Just say when.”

Eric smiles up at him, and then strikes the match and carefully holds it up to the fuse. It takes a few seconds for it to catch, because the desert is so barren and windy, but Eric can tell when it does. He laughs, genuinely happy, yells, “GO!” and takes off after Dylan in the sand.

As they run, Eric can hear Dylan laughing, yelling excitedly as the timer ticks down. They get about halfway back to the tent.

“DK!” Eric yells, skidding to a stop. Dylan doesn’t immediately turn around, and Eric doesn’t want him to miss it, so he adds a loud, “Vodka!” and then Dylan does turn around, and they grin at each other as Dylan takes a few steps back to stand beside him. “Three, two-”

It detonates.

Adrenaline floods through Eric’s body as the boom rumbles out over the sand. A big cloud of dust shoots up, and then the fuses ignite and there’s a second explosion that sends big blooms of hot orange fire everywhere. Dylan laughs and yells WOOOOOO!

“Mark that down as a success,” Eric says a minute later, as the fire shrinks and all they’re left with is a pile of twisted metal parts.

They shoot Eric’s BB gun at the burning rubble, and then Eric carefully duct tapes a couple black cats together and lights them all off at once. As the fireworks fly up into the black sky, Eric jumps up and tries to catch the falling embers.

*

“I brought you a present,” he says a little while later.

Dylan glances over his shoulder, knees up to his ears in the lawn chair he’s sitting in. 

He looks up at Eric, confused, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and says, “It’s your birthday.”

Eric shrugs and holds up his regular personal journal. He’s had this one for a year, maybe a little more, and he’s written in it almost every day. It’s only half full. All his thoughts. Feelings. Eric Harris, right down to the little drawings in the corners.

But now it’s the last year of his life, and he needs to be born again.

“Eric Harris is dead,” he says.

Every time he wrote about the things that happened at school. Every night he berated himself for being skinny and gay. Every memory of the fun days, every time his dad ever said something nice to him, every lyric and every movie. The stick figures he drew of Dylan. It’s all in here. And Eric doesn’t want anyone to ever, ever see it.

Dylan hands him their booze bottle over the fire. Eric’s eyes roll up to look at the sky as he takes a swig, grimaces at the taste, and then hands it back, and flips his journal open.

He rips a few pages out and tosses them in the fire.

“I want people to know we were here,” he says, watching as the edge of the papers curl, catching fire and turning orange and then black. “I want them to know what they did to us.” He rips another handful out, book spine bending in his grip. “And I want them to know we did this together.”

Dylan kicks one of the pages back into the fire when the wind catches it and sends it curling out over the sand.

“I’m not going to be some fag who gets his head bashed in,” Eric rants. “I’m a fucking god.”

Then he throws what’s left of his journal onto the fire. It lands hard and blows up more embers, and Dylan laughs and kicks at the edges of the pit.

“This is it,” Dylan announces, hard eye contact through the flames. “Black blood, white flesh.”

Eric stares back from the other side of the fire, and smiles.

*

Drunk, Eric laughs and staggers backwards, heels kicking through the sand.

The only reason he doesn’t land on his ass is because he’s holding onto Dylan, who is trying to make out with him even though they’re walking. Their boots and knees knock together as they trip along, first halo of sunrise starting to light the sky from black to blue behind the mountains.

This isn’t something Eric is ever going to get with anybody else. Not like he has with Dylan.

“Watch out,” he manages, falling over the fold of the tent door in the sand. He turns around to unzip it and laughs, out of breath, as Dylan stretches over his back and wraps his arms around Eric’s waist, nose dug in the side of his neck. “DK, damn, let me open it.”

He gets the door mostly unzipped and crawls in, falling over the air mattress, hands sinking into it as he tries to move over onto one side. Dylan drops in next, on his hands and knees, and they both turn and reach for the door zipper at the same time, drunk and sloppy.

“I got it,” Dylan says, so Eric goes back to kissing him, holding Dylan’s head with both hands as Dylan struggles to get the door closed and then falls backwards, yanking Eric over him on the air mattress. “Fuck, I’m spinning.”

Eric sits back, pulls his sweatshirt up over his head, and starts kicking off his boots.

“Can’t hold your liquor,” he says, words slurring together. “Fuck me before you pass out.”

After a second of laying there, Dylan rallies himself, eyebrows drifting up his forehead as he slowly unbuckles his belt and lifts his hips to shove his pants down. Eric crawls off of the mattress and feels around for his duffel in the dark.

Dylan grabs at him as he lurches back to the bed, uncoordinated. He laughs stupidly and almost falls into the opposite tent wall as the air mattress shifts around underneath them and knocks him off balance. 

“Come here,” Dylan mumbles, tugging Eric back down, another kiss, deep this time, suddenly intense and dark and more uncontrolled now that they’re on Mars with no one else around for miles and miles. “Fuck, Reb.”

The fire is down to embers outside, and Eric smells it, the damp early morning sizzle of dew and ash.

Dylan pushes himself up on one elbow and Eric takes the hint, moves to the side, head rolling to another planet as he drunkenly flops down with a smile. He reaches out for Dylan as soon as he’s laid back and lifts his hips, one arm stretching up around his wide, lanky shoulders.

This is the first time they’ve ever had sex face to face. It feels different. Eric’s heart hammers away in his chest as they drunkenly, sloppily make out.

“You’re the only person I’m ever going to fuck,” Dylan pants, yanking Eric’s legs up around his hips. He bends forward, slides his tongue dirty into Eric’s open mouth, and holds onto Eric’s side with one hand as he pushes in with the other. “You’re gonna die with me inside you.”

Eric grabs Dylan’s hair and his shoulders, and tilts his head back to swear, “FUCK, fuck, fuck,” as Dylan starts sucking on his neck and fucking him.

It’s different this way. Eric feels everything.

When he comes, Dylan yanks him face first into another kiss, and Eric falls apart in a way that is different than every other time before it.

*

They get home Sunday afternoon, just like he told his mom.

Eric is expecting the brightly colored ‘happy birthday’ balloon that drifts towards him as he opens the front door. He looks around, house quiet, and picks up the envelope carefully stamped and addressed to him by his grandma. Then he knocks the balloon away as it drifts across his path.

He’s delicately ripping the envelope open to get to the card inside when he walks into the kitchen and feels his blood run cold. 

His dad is sitting there, waiting for him. And, on the kitchen table, right next to his mom’s pastel easter flowers, is the still unnamed rig Eric has been working on for the last couple weeks.

She’s not completely finished, but she’s detonatable.

“I found this in the basement,” his dad says neutrally. “Want to tell me what it’s about?”

Eric hesitates for a minute, and finally, quietly replies, “No, sir.”

“Eric Harris. This is unacceptable.” His dad is doing that thing where he’s so mad Eric can’t get a read on anything. “If someone found out about this, you would be losing diversion.”

He knows that. He knows all these things he does aren’t acceptable, that if the wrong people found out, Eric would be taken away and dealt with.

“Sorry,” he says, and they both realize at the same time that Eric doesn’t mean it, so he raises his eyebrows and tries it again. “I’m sorry.”

Eric’s dad looks at him critically. “Being sorry isn’t enough this time. You’re going to face some very real consequences for this, Eric. You’re not going down this path.”

The path is so long Eric can’t even look back and see where it started anymore.

“Understood,” he says, and then, just in case, “Sir.”

His dad puts the bomb in his trunk and makes Eric go with him to detonate it in a field nearby. It sucks to kneel down and light the fuse with his dad watching. The feeling isn’t there at all. He jogs over to where his dad is waiting, about thirty feet away, and stands there silently as the fuse sizzles away and the explosives detonate.

All the parts he bought, all the time he spent making sure everything fit together just right.

Eric grits his teeth together and silently follows his dad back to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, just another thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter I posted. You guys are so nice? This tag is so great?
> 
> And [I have a twitter now](http://twitter.com/evengrable) if you want to come and say hi there.


End file.
